Down A Hole
by MyAbsintheDreams
Summary: A dark world. An insideous game. Hermione falls into a Wonderland where death and people with magic and animal ears are perfectly normal. Everything is madness, but not even madness can excuse the way she feels for Tom Riddle.
1. Cards It Is

"If I had a world of my own

Everything would be nonsense

Nothing would be what it is

Because everything would be what it isn't."

-Lewis C. Carol

**Down A Hole**

_By: Absinthe Dreams _

It was one of those lackadaisical summer days where the sky seemed bluer, the cotton candy clouds almost cartoonish in their puffy perfection. The sun blazed, a golden orb lazily dragging across the sky, but Hermione found sanctuary beneath a giant oak. The leaves filtering the light into splotches and beams, as a delightful breeze ruffled her curls. The seventeen year old girl lay out in a decidedly unladylike fashion. Sprawled widely across the prickly grass, mindless of how it mussed her red pinafore skirts, fluffed with layers of white ruffles beneath the candy apple red cotton that ended at her knees. Showcasing her red and black striped tights. Her fingers held a book above her face, expression absorbed in thought as her eyes flew across the print. Her wild hair haloed her head in a splay of russet curls, one of which Ginny idly tugged, sighing in deep, relentless boredom.

"Hermione," her friend whined, having resorted to tugging her companion's hair after calling her name no less than five times, "it's been _hours_. Can't you put down that book for a while? We could play a game," she suggested eagerly. The red head tucked her own sleek strawberry hair behind the white band on her crown, looking darling and delicate in her dark blue puffy skirts and white ribbons in a way Hermione was certain she never could herself.

_Would you like to play a game Hermione…?_

_**Let's play a game. **_

Hermione blinked hard, perhaps she'd had too much sun despite her shady refuge. The voice that spoke was rough, jarring. For a silly moment she thought she almost heard it aloud. Setting her book aside, careful to place the flowery bookmark Ginny had made for her two summers past between the pages, she rose to a sitting position, stretching her arms and arching her back. She redirected herself to the _real_ person staring at her insistently.

"What sort of game, then?" She asked indulgently. Ginny's powder blue eyes lit up and she grinned impishly, the expression transforming her into the mischievous girl Hermione had known since primary school. The one who was always dragging her into trouble, and then lying through her perfect pearl teeth to get them out of it again.

"We could play dice," at the crinkle in Hermione's nose the red headed girl relented with a sigh, "Or something more _decent_ like cards."

"There's little point in dice when we have no money to bet," Hermione pointed out wryly. It was vulgar for women to gamble, but that hardly stopped Ginevra Weasley from doing as she pleased.

Ginny was a bit reckless with her reputation, but her bloodline was aristocratic in a way Hermione's own would never be, no matter how well she married. So the fierce girl was allowed her eccentricities due to her prestigious heritage, even as her family tried to curb her temperament by shipping her off to Hogwarts Preparatory for Young Women, a effort that was proving utterly futile. No one could stop the locomotive will power that made up Ginny Weasley, not her father, nor her numerous brothers, and certainly not her nannies or teachers.

"Fine, fine. So cards?" Ginny rose, brushing off her skirts in a flurry, always a ball of hyper energy. Hermione's lips twisted wryly and she nodded, letting out a large yawn that would have horrified the Headmistress, a dour and sensible woman named McGonagall.

"Yes, we should play cards," Hermione told her sleepily, leaning against the oak, it's rough bark catching at her thick curls.

"Be right back!" Ginny yelled, having taken off in a loping run towards the manor house. A large estate that had been renovated just four years prior into Hogwarts Preparatory, a well reputed reform school for young women. Hermione smiled and let out another yawn, wondering how she had become so sleepy in such a short span of time. No matter. She would merely rest her eyes until Ginny returned and they would likely only play a few hands. The spritely red head always grew quickly bored of things, and with any luck they would be done in time for her to sneak a quick nap before dinner.

Her eyes drifted shut, lashes dusting her cheekbones. The sunlight was just warm enough to keep her cozy, the tree softer than it should have rightly been. Her eyes blinked blurrily, and for just a moment her eyes glimpsed a tuft of albino fur, a streak of white bounded across the field of green strewn with butter yellow wildflowers and pink scattered blooms. Likely one of the rabbits the gardener had been complaining of, their greedy mouths gobbling the fresh lettuce and sprouts in the grey haired woman's well tended garden. Hermione smirked, eyes fluttering back closed, the lids feeling immeasurably heavy.

_Cards it is then..._

Even as she drifted, the words jarred her, causing her to frown deeply, forehead creased. The voice was masculine, mocking, and almost vaguely familiar.

_Just remember…_

_**It's only a game…**_

_And all games…_

Hermione felt a sense of vertigo, her stomach flipping as if she was falling a great distance. She woke with a start, eyes flying open, the last word ringing harsh and sharp in her ears although no one was there to speak it.

_**End. **_

It was unnatural to be hearing a voice in her head. Certainly more so a man's voice that nagged with familiarity and yet remained elusive as ever. Frowning in earnest and pulling away from the tree, her amber eyes flickered across the sloping fields spotted with other oak trees much like the one she was near. No person was to be spotted. Not even Ginny, so she couldn't have possibly dozed off. At least, not for long. Heart racing, and stomach still in twists and knots from the odd sensation of falling awake, Hermione shook her head as if to clear it.

She was a sensible girl, not prone to fancy like Ginny and the others, she preferred logic and numbers, almost delighting in the rigor of British etiquette, save for when it demanded she act so docile it was demeaning and behave as if she were a fluffy piece of decor without a thought or opinion in her head.

After all, what was the point of women learning maths and languages if they weren't supposed to use them? To always act the simpering doll for their perspective beaus, is that what men truly wanted in their wives? Stupidity and a pretty face? It was while she was debating this long lamented tirade inside her head that she saw it.

"Crooks?" She called, catching a sight of the orange tabby darting by. Likely after a plump bunny. He wasn't supposed to stray too far from Hogwarts, or at least she didn't like him to. If he caught another rabbit he would be covered in dirt and blood and rabbit bits, the Headmistress was sure to fuss and insist he sleep outdoors. But cats hardly listened and her's perhaps least of all. "Crookshanks!" She called, rising and walking forward stiltedly as the flat faced feline paused and looked back at her. Almost as if beckoning her to follow.

Which was silly.

Cats didn't like being chased.

Likely as not he was taunting her with the idea of being willingly caught.

She approached, slowly. Crooks waited until the girl was mere steps away before his ears perked upward, spotting the white rabbit Hermione had spied earlier. He turned, expression intent.

"Oh _no_, Crooks _don't," _she pleaded. The cat, of course, didn't heed her at all. It sprinted, and with uncharacteristic impulse, Hermione gave chase, thinking only of running the rabbit off before Crooks could catch it. Her wild russet tresses flew behind her, wind tearing at their frothy mass and tugging wildly at her red dress. Loosely tied black ribbons trailing behind her as she streaked after the hopping menace. She cut Crooks off, for the cat was wary of being caught, so it skidded to a halt at the sight of her advancing at her breakneck pace, and she adjusted coarse, intent on running the rabbit to it's hole if possible. Or far enough through the fields that Crookshanks would lose interest in the long eared menace at any rate.

Hermione's blood pumped so furiously as she ran, she could hear the drum of it in her ears, throbbing hot and heavy. Sweat slicked her skin, her breathing coming in sharp, jagged pants and she nearly stopped, feeling spent, when all the sudden the rabbit abruptly stopped just feet ahead, turning to face her. It was a curious little thing. Ivory white with large, gleaming black eyes, and the funniest mark on it's fur. The shape...almost like a black snake, cut so perfectly in through the left side of it's fuzzy forehead and down around its eye that it seemed surreal.

The rabbit scratched it's ear, seeming to observe her in mute curiosity as she panted and grasped her knees, bent over and trying to catch her breath. Her complexion molted red from the heavy exercise in the noonday sun, hair a absolute bird's nest thanks to wind, she held the mass off her shoulders, sucking in deep, clean inhales as the cool soothing wind hit the back of her neck.

"Shoo," she snapped at the rabbit. Wiggling her fingers at it to startle it. It remained. Stubborn beast. It seemed arrogant, although how a rabbit pulled off a imperious expression she would be hard pressed to explain. It didn't twitch or startle. Merely stared. Yet there was something in it's demeanor that spoke of haughty self assurance, the way it's eyes half slitted at her perhaps, or the way it rose on its haunches and cocked its head at her. As if to say _What?_

"Go on, bunny," she clapped her hands, hard. The rabbit remained. Stubborn. Aloof. Staring at her. "Do you want Crookshanks to catch you and rip you to pieces you silly thing?"

It sniffed, tiny nose twitching once, and then something happened Hermione could not explain. It opened its furry mouth, exposing sharp little rabbit teeth, and spoke.

"That cat could _try_," the rabbit drawled in a perfect, aristocratic accent. "But I don't have time to play with your _pet, _I am already very, very late."

Flabbergasted, Hermione's jaw went slack as the tiny white rabbit dug into a pocket of its fur and produced a tiny pocket watch, it's silvery chain gleaming in the sunlight. Gobsmacked, she rubbed her eyes, feeling decidedly uneasy as she continued to see a talking rabbit examine a time piece, before she realized the only logical explanation.

"I'm dreaming," she announced, certain of it. "I'm dreaming, and you're just a figment of my imagination."

The rabbit replaced it's watch after snapping the face of it shut and gave her another slitted glance.

"That's what you lot _always _say," he mused cynically. "Dream away, then, Mudblood. The Queen of Spades doesn't like to be kept waiting, so I must be off."

"What did you call me?" Hermione demanded. Even if this was a dream, there was no excuse for rudeness.

"Mudblood, it's what we call all you top siders, you stink of that red mud running through you. Now if that's quite all, I really am late." The rabbit twitched its nose, and gave what might have been a rabbitish bow, before he turned to hop off.

"Wait!" Hermione called, not sure why she felt compelled to follow the rabbit still. Yet she couldn't _not_ follow it.

"Not bloody likely, the Queen isn't patient and I'm in no mood for one of her games," the rabbit snapped, not pausing it's pace and she scowled at it's back. So rude. Why was she dreaming of such a rude rabbit? And what could a _rabbit_ possibly be late for?

"Please," she called, jogging to keep sight of it, "Just a moment!"

"No time," he uttered curtly, and before her eyes a large rabbit hole simply appeared in the ground. Not to say she suddenly saw it there. No. The ground itself seemed to open up, the grass peeling aside and the earth crumbling beneath it.

"What a strange dream," Hermione muttered, pushing back her untidy curls and sighing as the rabbit leapt into the hole without pause. Vanishing into the large abyss. A moment later a orange flash of fur darted to the edge of the hole.

"Crooks, no!" Dream or not, Hermione could not repress the overprotective feeling she had towards her pet. Crookshanks was her most beloved companion, and seeing him at the edge of a hole that lead heavens knew where set her into a state of instinctual alarm. Knowing it was just a dream, strangely enough, did not distill her panic

Approaching softly, so as not to startle her cat, she made her way to Crookshanks side. Clicking her tongue soothingly she bent over to catch the rascally feline, only to have it dart between her legs. The motion upset her balance, and her lunge went too far, sending her toppling head over heels, skirts flying in the air in a manner that would have caused her etiquette teacher, a toadish woman by the unfortunate name of Dolores Umbridge, to faint dead away. The girl tumbled quiet hard, so hard, in fact, her upper half slid over the edge of the hole. She didn't shriek, because it wasn't in her nature to do so, instead she let out a silent gasp as she stared wide eyed down toward the inky blackness. Just as she went to inch carefully backwards the earth under her fingers gave way, letting go to the black void below and releasing her to the weightless terror of falling.

And with the sound of a very undignified yell of alarm, Hermione Granger fell down the rabbit hole, tumbling towards her fate in the company of blind darkness.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first installment of this little plot bunny. Rest assured there is more. I've written far ahead to ensure regular updates and Tomione goodness will ensue, so hang in there with me for the build up. Reviews are of course, the crack of the writers world, and I don't have a beta so feel free to point out errors and I will do my best to fix them.


	2. Wonderland That Was (Fixed)

"I think I need help

Because I'm drowning in myself

It's sinking in

I can't pretend

That I ain't been through hell."

Papa Roach "Help"

**Down A Hole**

_By: Absinthe Dreams_

_Last time: _And with the sound of a very undignified yell of alarm, Hermione Granger fell down the rabbit hole, tumbling towards her fate in the company of blind darkness…

Hermione Granger did not know how long she had been falling, but it seemed a impossibly long time. So long, in fact, that her cries for help and her initial burst of adrenaline had long abated, and she found herself tumbling in boredom wondering if, and when, she would land. Idly she also wondered if Ginny was up above, searching for her, until the honey eyed girl remembered she was merely dreaming and likely still beneath the large oak tree in the meadow, dozing soundly. Perhaps she would wake just as she landed, or just before. Logically she knew she couldn't feel pain, or die in a dream, so she had little to fear.

Illogically, she still grew apprehensive at the thought of landing. Such a fall would maim her in reality, if not kill her instantly, and while she knew she wouldn't die in a dream she still wasn't looking forward to the experience of such a thing even inside her mind. Perhaps if she pinched herself…

"Ow," she frowned. That _hurt_. Perhaps she was only imagining it did, but it felt rather real. Hermione snorted, "Right," she voiced dryly into the endless darkness through which she tumbled, "and rabbits can talk, and the earth can suddenly open up. Really, be sensible."

_In a game there are __**Rules**__. _

_First __**Rule**__, to play you must begin. _

_Once you begin…_

Hermione didn't like this voice, it was too eerie to hear it in her own head without conjuring it there herself. It made her brain itch a bit. She fought to urge to scratch her scalp as it spoke, it would do little good, it was her brain itself that itched, not her head.

_You can not stop until the game is finished. _

_Once the game is finished, it all must end. _

_So, shall we begin? _

"Like I have a choice," Hermione sniffed, for whatever reason her mind had conjured this fanciful dream and there was no escaping it save for waking. A feat that could happen at any time, or seemingly take forever.

_We all have choices..._

The voice had seemingly answered her, and she frowned, it was the first time it had done so.

_You can choose how to play, or when, but you must play, you see…_

_You've already agreed and so you've already begun. _

Hermione scoffed, "I don't remember agreeing to anything." She retorted sourly. The voice didn't say anything. Of course it didn't. She was only imagining the nonexistent male in any case, if she was frustrated by her own dream she only had herself to blame.

Just when she thought she might go mad with boredom, and growing irritable at the sightlessness she experienced in the endless pitch of the hole through which she fell, it all changed. It was a viscous substance she passed through, the membrane thin and glossy. Hermione frowned as she realized she wasn't passing through it, instead it formed a bubble around her. A glossy, perfect bubble, and she realized she could now see it because the earth around her had begun to glow with a soft light that gleamed every color of the rainbow. Like she was inside a rainbow itself, passing through each layer again and again. The colors grew brighter and brighter, fiercer and fiercer, until they nearly blinded her in their luminescence.

In the blinding prism of colored light, a memory came to her. Only it didn't just appear in her head, it engulfed her. She became it. Suddenly, inexplicably, nine years old again and standing in the hallway of her home. She saw through her nine year old eyes, felt every sensation, but had no control in how she moved or felt. Trapped in a memory.

_Creeping through the halls of her family home like a mouse, nine year old her pressed her eyes to the crack in the study door. Spying was wrong. Mum always said so. But…Nine year old Hermione knew she'd never learn anything useful if she didn't sneak around. Just a _little_. Grownups knew nothing, and they were always hiding stupid things from her. _

"_I know she can't live in a bubble her whole life, Jean, but that's no reason to send her away. I don't care if she marries some Lord or another, and neither does she. Plenty of time for that after she's older, much older," Her father never raised his voice, but there was something in his tone that almost made her younger self want to run away. Race back to bed and shuffle under the covers, but her mother's calm voice froze her, the words matter of fact._

"_She's smart, Henry, smarter than most boys, and she's not afraid to show it," Jean sighed, "I wish I could say this world was kind or accepting of smart girls, but…" no longer calm, bitterness laced her mother's voice. "This world isn't and if we want her to be accepted into society she _must _marry, and marry well." _

"_Tosh! I married a very smart woman, and any man who doesn't want the same is himself, a fool. Regardless, money makes society tolerate much. I intend to leave you and her my entire fortune. Which I intend to make, shortly," Henry replied, and Hermione grew wistful at her father's teasing tone. "Do you regret your life? Wish you'd been sent to one of those dreadful places?" _

"_No. I love you, and Hermione, you are my entire world,_" _her mother spoke empathetically, "However, I am quite smart, and while I would have hated school, it would've helped me in many ways. And Henry, Hermione wants it."_

"_So let her go to school here in London, and live here with us. Why send her away?"_

"_Because of her upcoming place in society, dear husband. Built on the fortune you are in fact making already, but it depends on more than some common school house. A preparatory school will teach her how to be smart, and also how to hide it, If she wishes to. In order to get the attention of a appropriate man." At her husband's pout she cajoled sweetly, "Don't you want her to have more than we had? Her children could be actual nobility."_

"_I don't like it." Henry grumbled. _

"_I don't want her to live elsewhere either, but it won't be until she's eleven, she'll be ready then," her mother, Hermione saw from peeking, wrapped her arms around her father in a rare display of intimacy._

"_Well I won't be," Her father complained good naturedly, "I changed my mind, the bubble it is."_

_Her mother laughed. Her father, after a moment, couldn't help but join her. Hermione, nine and intent on listening, accidentally nudged the door, and both of them saw her. Which only made her father laugh harder and more genuinely and her mother roll her eyes. _

"_Really, I told you Henry, entirely too smart for her own good. Come here you little sneak," her mother's grin was wide and warm, taking any sting from her words, "and give your father and I a hug. Does your nanny know you've escaped?" _

"_No, she's already sleeping," nine year old Hermione chirped. _

A blink and she was back, tumbling in her bubble, the light back to a muted rainbow flow. Had she gone somewhere? Or was her memory just that vivid? Sprung upon her by the sight of herself in a literal bubble. A bubble that abruptly popped, as the sound of a clock ticking filled her ears. It was so loud she fought the urge to groan. It's ticking and tocking growing faster and faster, louder and louder, until it slowed, as did her fall. Looking down she saw another barrier, this one of glass, and as she hit it, the pieces shattered loudly around her, their jagged edges cutting at her red dress and golden skin.

Just like that the light grew brighter and she was blinded again. The too bright prisms of spastic light jarred her into the memory. This time she was transported to moment when she was fourteen, horridly awkward and sniffling into her pillow.

"_I'm sure he felt something for you, but you're just a tooth doctor's daughter," Ginny said it softly, regretfully, but the red headed girl only knew how to be blunt in her words, no softening of facts. Even as she stroked Hermione's hair in comfort her words stole the solace away. The comfort was far from sweet when mixed with bitter truth. _

"_Lavender is the daughter of a duchess' sister, he had to pick her, her father insisted. He's in parliament you know, and my father needs his support."_

_Hermione felt, at that tender age of fourteen, as if she'd never known such a hurt. Her fragile heart felt as if it had broken and shattered into a million pieces. Sobs wracked her. Jagged, and sharp, like glass._

"_I know my brother was kind to you-"_

"_He k-k-kissed me!" Hermione blurted out. "I thought that meant we were engaged." she shattered all over again as her throbbing eyes met Ginny's wince through their blurred vision. Was it possible for a person to be made of glass? To shatter so hard inside she died on the outside? If it was, perhaps that's what was happening now._

"_Oh Mione," Ginny crooned, obviously feeling guilty for having suggested the match in the first place. It had seemed so right, after all. Ronald was so kind, and she already loved his family. Ginny could have been her actual sister. Why, oh why did he have to suddenly get engaged to Lavender Brown, of all girls? The blonde, syrupy voiced girl was horrid, and stupid. Hermione hated her, and all the other simpering girls who acted dull and dumb to get the boys attention _

_But at least Lavender Brown was well bred and apparently pretty... given the way Ronald Weasley had looked at the vapid blonde twit, Hermione reluctantly had to admit that she was perhaps not Lavender's equal in that department. Hermione's skin was not fashionably pale. Her freckles too obvious. Hips too wide and teeth too big. _

_At least, Ronald Weasley never turned so red just looking at _**her**. _Not even when they kissed. _

"_I know it seems bleak, but it's for the best, really, my brother is a utter idiot for not protesting it," Ginny uttered venomously, "I hope she makes him _miserable."

Hermione blinked. The ticking and tocking of the clock resumed. So did the lights. Honestly, Hermione was so sick of falling. Tumbling weightlessly had started as a novel sensation, but now she longed to feel the _ground_. To have something solid and firm under her tightly laced boots.

The falling girl almost missed seeing it, sulking as she was about not being able to wake herself. The large, oak desk soared upward at her and she flailed to the side, nearly missing having her face knocked in by the corner of it as it tumbled listlessly in it's upward ascent. A ink bottle followed next, the ink spilling up from the open bottle, it's perfect spheres of black floating so close to her eyeballs she could see the way the rainbow light glittered on their dark surfaces. Next was a masculine looking cologne in a dark grey glass bottle, followed by a set of all too familiar slippers, rough and well worn. The floated lazily upward some feet away from her as they passed.

"Dad," she murmured, seeing it all for what it was now. His desk, from his office. His love of writing, and reading, and how he'd taught her to love books and learning, all of it. Each nostalgic item whizzed by in a fleeting moment. Her eyes watched a fleet of upward falling books tumbling in the mess. Books they had both loved. Hermione fought to urge to pluck them from the air and clutch them to her chest.

Really, she should have known from the cologne. It was his favorite, and once, as a child she'd snuck into his room and spilled a whole bottle of it prying through his things. It had smelled like him for _years_, long after he was gone, she'd cherished that spot. Until her mother decided to suddenly remodel that room. It seemed it was too painful, too hard for her mother to remember her father, or even see or hear or smell anything that reminded her of him. So it all had to go, and each part. His desk. His books. Even his old fashioned quill set. Each had taken a part of Hermione with it.

This time, the light didn't brighten. There was no one memory of her father that summed up his loss. No singular time that it was awful that he was gone. Or any particular moment with him that was better or more regretful than any other, because there were too many inside her to count or rank. She couldn't chose. He was so much. More than any thought could summarize. It was a million of them, all mixed together.

The wound was too raw, too fresh, and her eyes filled with tears. She didn't want to think of her father, or what her future held without him in it. She kicked aside a dangerous assault of his dental instruments, using her boots to keep the shiny metal pieces from skewering her.

The sound of a clock filled her ears to a much more demanding degree, it's ticking incessant and intoxicating. The tocks, though, jarred through her, and it was on one such tock that she found herself, abruptly, with no due warning or foresight, or even a true recollection of how, sitting on a patch of dying brown grass, the air dense with a lavender smog that surrounded her. There was no tick tock of the clock, and somehow, the abrupt silence seemed almost more deafening and worrisome than the obnoxious ticking ever had.

The lavender hued mist was thin like regular fog up close, but lead to a very short sighted view from a distance, it's purple glow eerie with unfamiliarity. The air even smelled strange, like pungent floral perfume and old books. She looked around, seeing only one landmark, a sign right next to her person. White and painted with childish lettering it proclaimed: "Keep Off The Grass."

"Oh bloody hell, you just _had_ to jump, didn't you Mudblood? Everyone wants to be a_ Alice_, eh?" A very irked voice snapped, and Hermione scrambled back at the purplish fog parted in a swirl to reveal a approaching tall, blonde man, his eyes glinting a flinty silver as he curled his lip at her, his gait purposeful and posture flawless. A peculiar snake tattoo slithered down his forehead in inky tendrils, curling around his eye. Shocking white blond feathered haired crowned his head, his skin pale and eyes grey, lending him a bleached out appearance against the cloying purple mist. He was lean and menacing looking, pale and aristocratic with fine features and a pointed chin.

"You're just like the others, and like them, you'll die," he sneered, "I should kill you myself, the Dark Lord would want it." The disdain, the arrogance, the snake mark on his face, and that _voice_…

"Weren't you a rabbit?" She asked, aghast. Why was he suddenly human? Well, she eyed his long, white fluffy ears protruding from the top of his head in between his white blonde locks._ Sort of_ human. The rabbit ears seemed to move and twitch just as if they were part of him.

"Draco Malfoy will do," the rabbit eared man snapped, tilting his head at her he sneered down at her. He abruptly plucked his pocket watch from a smart silver vest, his attire that of a finely dressed lord. Tailored vest and coat, pressed breeches and shoes that gleamed with shine. "I don't have time for killing Mudbloods right now, lucky you."

"Yes, you've said," Hermione frowned at him, "You're late, right?"

"_Very_, but I will tell you this, Mudblood who wants to be Alice," he sneered.

""_My _name is Hermione," she interrupted shortly, frowning at him, "Not _Alice _and certainly not Mudblood." The way he said the word made it crawl on her skin, so obviously offensive, demeaning and cruel she couldn't help but deny it.

"Good for you," he mocked with a smirk, "If you want to survive for more than the next five minutes, I might make a point."

"Which is?" Hermione asked expectantly. "And what _is _a Alice, in any case?"

A/N: More to come. Feedback welcome. I feel I should give kudos where due, because while this fiction is obviously inspired by Harry Potter and Alice in Wonderland, it owes its plot bunny mojo also to the Alice in the Kingdom of Hearts comic series, a manga based off a video game and it's good. Lol. Ok. That's it for now. Review. Or at least give this fic a chance to mature, I'm just revving up my creative engines people.


	3. The First Door

**Down A Hole**

_By: Absinthe Dreams_

**Quick Announcement: **A thousand apologies for posting the wrong chapter for chapter two. It's fixed now, and thanks to everyone who pointed it out to me. As an apology I've also posted chapter three. Hope you like it.

"The maddest thing of all  
Might be the people who believe  
That they alone are the sane ones."

-Anonymous

_**Last time**__: _

"_My name is Hermione," she interrupted shortly, frowning at him, "Not Alice and certainly not Mudblood." The way he said the word made it crawl on her skin, so obviously offensive, demeaning and cruel she couldn't help but deny it._

"_Good for you," he mocked with a smirk, "If you want to survive for more than the next five minutes, I might make a point."_

"_Which is?" Hermione asked expectantly. "And what is a Alice, in any case?"_

Ignoring her question entirely he smirked at her condescendingly, "Don't trust anyone, don't speak to anyone, and certainly don't take anything from anyone who's offers it freely. This isn't Wonderland anymore. It hasn't been for a while, anyway," he shrugged, "This is Underland now, and the Dark Lord and the Queen of Spades rule all the kingdoms, no matter what anyone says. But since you asked so nicely, I'll tell you this," he uttered with a tight smile and near drawled sarcasm to the girl staring at him with too wide and innocent eyes, "Alice isn't a _who_ it's more of a _what_. A little bit of a name that's mostly a legend, and you want to be it, if you find yourself capable of being anything here at all. Trust me."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked curiously. Trying to make sense of his nonsense hurt her head.

"Better to be told, than forced to learn the hard way, stupid Mudblood. Now, you better get to it. Go back if you can, and if you're not quick about it another one of me will be likely be along shortly to finish you off."

"Another one of you, who?" Now he has me speaking in riddles, the bemused girl realized. Despite his disdain and obvious need to impress how stupid she was for not knowing basic things, he was quite engaging.

"We all have our roles, Hermione-not-Alice. Mine is to be one of my Lord's Death Eaters, and my Queen's White Rabbit." He looked her up and down dryly, "Yours is likely to still die in the next five minutes despite my excellent advice." He sighed and rolled his silver eyes, tapping his foot rapidly, almost like the animal he had first been. That's not logical, a part of Hermione pointed out to herself wryly. Rabbits turning into men didn't make logical sense, but then dreams didn't always make sense.

"Sirius Black is a damned fool to bring you here. But that's _his_ role. Him and his sodding_ games._ He's as mad as they say. He knows the Dark Lord kills his champions, all of them, but he keeps bringing you in. Fat little lambs for the slaughter."

"How awful, why would anyone do that?" She frowned, wondering who this Sirius Black was.

Draco, a man with rabbit ears who had practically been spouting gibberish since his introduction, gave her a condescending look of exasperation. As if she were the annoyingly obtuse one.

"That's the wrong question and besides, I don't have time to explain all that, really. Figure it out for yourself Hermione-not-Alice, I have things to attend to," he turned abruptly, walking into the purple mist.

"Wait! How do I get back?!" She called, stumbling after him, but the terrain of dead grass and thistles slowed her, her footsteps tripping over ground that was both rough and foreign. Forcing her to pick her way slowly and carefully. He advanced quickly, seemingly unhindered by the terrain, leaving her behind, his complaints trailing behind him.

"Not my fecking problem, is how... if he finds out I even spoke to a Mudblood he'll likely pluck out my eyes and cut out my tongue not to mention what he'll do to my other bits, better to have my head off by the Queen at that point, really..._wait_ she says, as if I have the time…"

His voice faded off. She lost his trail. Still Hermione continued on, and as the purple mist dissipated, the grass grew taller and taller from the ground, until it was well above her head, obscuring her way, and her progress. Fighting through the thick of it, skirts clutched and features determined, the girl spilled out the other side and into a closed room.

Hermione frowned, looking around at the plain space, brown walls and red tile, she turned behind her to return through the grass...and frowned at a black door against more brown walls and brick red flooring that certainly hadn't been there before. Where was the grass? The purple mist? Now she was in a closed room, with only a door before her, a shiny gold plaque at its side.

With a shrug at the frivolous cast of her dreams, Hermione approached the door, squinting at the plaque to read the engraved words. They were almost worn off with age and time.

**Gryffindor:**

_**Your daring, nerve and chivalry**_

_**Must be what sets you apart**_

_**None shall pass through this door**_

_**Who be faint of heart**_

Hermione puzzled over the words. Strange. Well, there was only this room, and the door before her. It was no great mystery where her dream would lead her next. Her hand reached for the handle, but a casual voice caused her to startle abruptly, turning in alarm.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," his emerald eyes stood out, large and cat-like in his golden features. Messy chocolate hair brushed the stranger's forehead, a long lavender and midnight blue striped tail swishing in agitation behind him. It matched the similarly furred ears peeking through his unruly mass of hair. A silver hoop pierced his left cat ear.

"How else would you suggest I leave this place?" Hermione demanded, adding in shrewd afterthought, "How did _you_ manage to get in?"

"In is just the same as out, and I'm always a bit of both," the cat eared boy explained patiently, "You can't come the way I did, but you still shouldn't leave _that_ way. It'll make you Alice, maybe, or kill you, most likely."

"Excuse me, but everyone keeps saying Alice this, and Mudblood that," his cat ears twitched at the second term, and he frowned. "I'm just trying to wake up from this dream, but no matter how hard I try…" Hermione stiffened, her body going ramrod straight at the peculiar stranger leaned in and began sniffing at her. Like a cat might smell the air around you, curious and matter-of-fact.

"You've met the White Rabbit then," he grimaced, "Lucky Malfoy didn't kill you, he's one of the Dark Lord's minions."

"And you're not?" She surmised, giving up on getting much explanation from anyone at this rate. After all, dreams didn't always make sense.

"No," he recoiled, looking utterly offended. "I will never be loyal to him, or his false Queen." He spit on the floor, crossed his eyes and uttered solemnly, hand planted over his heart, "May her clock rot."

"Then, if you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

Harry looked the girl up and down, her black and red striped tights, her crimson dress with puffy sleeves and ruffled skirts, it was smeared with dirt and grass. She looked the part of tired raggamuffin, hair wild and eyes dull with worry and fatigue, surely this was no Alice, the door was here, but she'd never pass it's threshold. A nearly feline smirk lit his face.

"I'm The Cheshire Cat, of course, it's my job to guide you, and I don't recommend going through that door," He grinned widely, leaning over her in a familiar manner that would have appalled her Headmistress. "But if you insist on it, you should know the risk."

"And what risk is that, Mr. Cat?"

He blinked, and then sighed, "My title is the Cheshire Cat, my name is Harry Potter, you may call me Harry, muggleborn."

"What's a muggleborn?"

"As curious as me, eh?" Harry straightened and he sighed, "A muggleborn is a much nicer term for Mudblood, a foul slur the Dark Lord cooked up. You are a muggleborn, not a Alice, and so if you try and pass that door, you are sure to die."

"You can't die in a dream."

"I wonder, how do you know?" He cocked his head at her, "In any case, as the Cheshire Cat, I can send you back. You do want to go back, don't you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied instantly, brightening at the prospect of escaping this confusing dream. Or at least dreaming of things that made sense.

"Then eat this," he dug into his pockets, coming up with a small yellow candy, it certainly didn't help it's appeal as he began picking lint and hair off the small offering. Her nose crinkled.

"No, thank you."

"It's a forfeit, lemon flavored, and I can only offer it once," Harry's ears flattened, his tail twitching in agitation, "Don't be daft."

"I don't want it," Hermione closed his hand and pushed the candy back. Remembering the other fellow's warning not to eat anything here, or take anything freely given. The candy wasn't even tempting. Green eyes slitted in feline discontent.

"Stupid, foolish, idiot girl. Even if you are Alice, which is unlikely, you're hardly a match for _him. _Once you pass that door, even if you don't die, the Dark Lord will know you're here in Underland and his Death Eaters will begin the hunt." Harry tried to force the candy into her fingers, but the amber eyed girl stubbornly tossed the candy to the ground. It erupted into a cloud of smoke as it landed, dissipating after a few moments into nothing.

"Now you've done it," Harry ground his teeth, as he glared at the muggleborn, "Fine, go ahead and get yourself killed. See if I care." With that, he began to waver, his image flickering like waning candle flame.

"Oh bloody hell, I didn't _mean _it," he looked down at his disappearing form in dismay, "I guess this is goodbye, for now, Miss Muggleborn."

"It's Hermione," she uttered, but it was too late, he was already gone and she was once again alone in the small room.

"Right. Talking cat-man, bunny boy, what's next? A rat girl?" Hermione frowned at the door, pondering the curious man's warnings. In the end, however, she really only saw one logical outcome to her current predicament. Lightly, her fingers enclosed the handle, and she was surprised to feel a thrill of excitement pulse through her body.

The hairs on her arms raised like needles, her breath sucking into her lungs in a sharp gasp as she gripped the cool gold knob and twisted. She found no resistance, the door opened almost without her pulling it, and Hermione gaped at the scene beyond. What's more, the people gaped back at her, equally shocked by her sudden appearance.

A/N: Me again. Thanks for all the kind favorite and feedback, just knowing people took the time to read this bolsters my urge to keep posting. I know I'm falling short so far on smutty Tomione goodness. If you bear with me for the build up I promise to bring on the smolder. Until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter


	4. The Heart of Gryffindor

**Down A Hole**

By: Absinthe Dreams

"There is no point in driving yourself mad trying to stop yourself going mad. You might just as well give in and save your sanity for later. In an age of madness, to expect to be untouched by madness is a form of madness."

-Douglas Adams

_**Last Time:**_

_Lightly, her fingers enclosed the handle, and she was surprised to feel a thrill of excitement pulse through her body._

_The hairs on her arms raised like needles, her breath sucking into her lungs in a sharp gasp as she gripped the cool gold knob and twisted. She found no resistance, the door opened almost without her pulling it, and Hermione gaped at the scene beyond. What's more, the people gaped back at her, equally shocked by her sudden appearance_.

_**Now:**_

There was such a dizzy opulence about the space the door opened to, she found herself blinking stupidly for a moment, before a moue of determination alit her mouth. Striding through the threshold, the amber eyed girl felt something warm and familiar wrap over her. Like a blanket she'd held as a child but had long forgotten, yet just a squeeze of that texture, a hint of it's scent, washed her in a overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. It helped her feel slightly better at her ragged appearance into such a decadent scenery.

"Announcing Miss Hermione Granger, the twelve hundred and fortieth Alice," a soft, airy female voice cut through the shocked silent throne room. It belonged to a girl with dreamy blue eyes, half lidded, she carried a cane which she used to lightly gesture towards Hermione with. Unnoticed, the door swung softly shut behind her of its own volition.

Large white pillars held in a domed ceiling. The room itself crowded with cool eyed gentry, each dressed in a chaotic outlandish fashion. Her neck stretched slightly as she gaped in a fish like fashion at the ceiling of the room. The night sky twinkled overhead, held aloft by the white pillars, but it was not a sky she knew. The stars were too bright and close, planets and moons she didn't recognize easily visible in its inky expanse.

The floor was a chessboard cascade of red and white squares, each colored marble slab larger than a person and leading up to a space that felt like it should have held a magnificent throne. Instead it held a brown leather lazy chair, a old man in bright red robes with a long tipped hat and grey hair down to his shoulders and a beard near to his belly, sat upon the chair. A gold crown with a single cut ruby in the center graced his temple, but other than that he seemed a affable grandfather, relaxing in his favorite chair and smoking a plain brown pipe. Periwinkle eyes twinkled magnanimously across the room of decadent red and white dressed courtiers before landing on the young girl with wild hair.

"A pleasure Miss Granger, my name is Albus Dumbledore, Steward of Hearts."

"It's nice to meet you at last. I think you're going to be simply wonderful, the best Alice yet," Dressed in a man's suite, complete with a coat with tails and top hat, the serene looking woman peered at Hermione in dreamy satisfaction. "Yes, you'll do very nicely."

"Luna, do give the girl a moment to collect herself," the man in the recliner suggested lightly, a bemused note to his tone. "She did just pass through her very first door, and she looks as if the journey was taxing."

"Not for her, the doors are hers to pass through, it's the journey to them that takes such a toll," Luna murmured, giving Hermione a small, secret smile, her white gloved fingers lightly griped Hermione's own. It didn't feel uncomfortable, this gesture of immediate friendship, despite her oddities, the girl made Hermione feel this deep peace, and that too, was almost familiar. She stared up at the taller blonde girl in wonder and confusion.

"Welcome home, Hermione Granger," Luna squeezed her fingers around hers and pecked the girls soft freckled cheek, her smile was as soft as kittens and clouds, "We have been waiting a long time."

"It seems you've charmed my Dormouse, Miss Granger," the old man seemed equally bemused and miffed, "A feat none so far can claim."

"She's here to play the game."

Hermione froze, turning away from the strange, kind eyed girl in man's clothes to stare at the voice she'd been hearing more and more lately. It just seemed so off, because this time it hadn't seemed to come from inside her head, but from behind her person. Sure enough, there he stood, but if pressed she couldn't say how, exactly, she picked him from the crowd of people leisurely gathered around the throne. It was simply him, and she knew it.

"Sirius, my dear boy," the man in the chair chided, looking uneasy, "Did you bring this girl here?"

The man with long, scraggly hair and a face of sharp features and engaging eyes was dressed more finely than any other in the room. His coat was a fine purple leather, such craftsmanship she had never seen in person, the color especially vivid and startling in a sea of red and white. His vest and shirt was black, with silver stitching, the ruffled sleeves pooling through his leather jacket to encase his wrists and bejeweled fingers. His dark grey eyes danced with mirth, although no one else seemed amused. He was also, the very voice she'd been hearing in her head.

"Yes," he grinned, looking rather cheeky as the elder man frowned down at him. Slate grey eyes landed on the girl standing in front of the giant red doors that seemingly lead to nowhere, the other side now empty, no room, just air. Sirius' expression brightened almost ferally in delight.

"Oh. You _are _here, I was afraid I was dreaming again. I've been dying to ask, and it seems as if Dumbly is set on being quite serious, but I simply must know," his voice was eager, his stride taking up the space between them as he spoke, a nearly fanatical gleam in his eye.

He pulled a card out of thin air, plucking it from the space above her left ear and holding it much too close to her face for proper inspection.

"Is this your card?"

Hermione frowned, stepping back and looking at the glossy play card held dramatically aloft in Sirius' hand, the Ace of Spades, all the girl could manage was to stare in bewilderment. Was she supposed to know what he was talking about?

"I don't know," she evaded politely, he seemed to be quite mad. There was a decidedly unhinged look in his pewter grey eyes, a manic feeling to his speech and movements. Deflating, and looking as if he was a small boy who was forced to watch as his puppy get kicked, the full grown man pouted as a child would, chin jutted, arms crossed.

"Well if you don't know, I suppose you can't say, but I _really_ thought this was your card, I was nearly certain of it," he mumbled in petulant disappointment, staring at the card as if it could be blamed for his sudden upset. Luna stepped forward, offering her comfort in the form of a pat on his shoulder.

"There, there, it's not time for all that yet, silly Sirius," Luna consoled the sulking man, "Go and have some tea, and in time you'll remember when you are at the right moment, and I'll make sure you speak then."

"It seems so _obvious_, so now..." the man sighed, "But if you say so, it must be so, mustn't it?"

"Just so, and yet not always will it be, or has it ever been, but at this particular time you must trust me," Luna embraced the man and he stood there, allowing her hug, but not returning the gesture. She leaned in, whispering something in the taller man's ear and standing on the tip of her toes to do so.

"A pot of tea does sound nice," he allowed. Luna beamed at him, and he shuffled off, the entire court watching as the Mad Hatter took his leave.

"I'm afraid Sirius is not what he was," the old man explained sadly, "You must forgive him, dear girl, I'm sure he had no idea what it was he did, bringing you here in such a turbulent time."

"I'm sorry," Hermione began carefully, aware of so many sets of eyes focused on her, "but here is where, exactly?"

His smile was creased with sadness, he placed down his pipe and gave her a pitying look. "Here, my dear, is a subjective term, not an exact one. For instance, here is what was once known as Wonderland, a sanctuary and testing ground, but here is also Underland, a land upturned by war and darkness. Here could be said to be the Kingdom of Hearts, the land of Gryffindor, or merely my throne room. The question is not so simple."

"Forgive me sire, but we can't harbor a Alice, the Burrow can barely fend off the border as it is," a lean boy spoke, his hair the color of carrots and a pair of rabbit ears falling from his head. His ears were fluffier than the other man's had been, more likely from a long haired breed. His features were broad and freckled, as he turned towards her she saw his face more cleary. Hermione gasped as she recognized his warm brown eyes, his build, even the disgruntled cast to his features. But of course it wasn't truly Ronald Weasley, because this was only a dream. Still, the similarity was jarring. This Ronald was just a tad taller, with oranger hair and of course, fluffy red brown rabbit ears.

"Ronald, my boy, we won't turn away anyone in need of our help," Dumbledore spoke in his usual gravelly kind tone. The March Hare crossed his arms in a surly pout but offered no further comment, although his fluffy and bent ears twitched in irritation as he crossed his arms and adopted a mutinous expression.

"Now, you must have come a awfully long way, to be here so soon after coming to our world," Dumbledore offered kindly, "Perhaps you'd like to rest and freshen up?"

Hermione looked bashfully down at her grass stained dress and dirt smeared skin and boots.

"That would be lovely." Dream or not, a bath sounded nice, this was by far the most vivid dream she'd ever had. She felt tired, and dirty, sweat drying on her skin and her eyelids drooping. Navigating the long grass had been no easy task, and she'd faced so many shocks in such a short time she could barely hold on to her senses.

"You are welcome here, dear child," Dumbledore assured her, smiling magnanimously down at her from the dias on which his old recliner perched. "It may be a dark time you find us in, but all who pass through the Gryffindor's door have always had sanctuary in the Kingdom of Hearts."

"All hail Dumbledore, Steward of Hearts!" Every person in the room spoke the words at once, their voices a booming chorus.

"Perhaps when you feel better rested, we may speak again," he gestured idly and two people came to escort her from the room, due to their matching uniforms, so much less fine than the courtiers costumes, she judged them to be servants. Peculiarly, each had a suite of cards designed on their tunics, the man, with his large brown eyes and hooked nose had a seven of hearts stitched into his large white square tunic, and the girl with her lank brown hair and watery blue eyes wore a four of hearts on hers.

"Dobby and Mimsy, Miss Alice," the man spoke once they'd left the stifling watchful eyes of the throne room. "We will be helping you to your rooms, and getting you whatever you may need or want, Miss Alice."

"Call me Hermione."

The man almost spasmed, fingering his numbered tunic nervously as he turned towards his counterpart in alarm before looking back to her and swallowing audibly.

"Miss Alice being your title, and no face card can be saying a Alice's name, no," he shook his head seriously, "Not allowed."

"What he saying be true," Mimsy added sternly, "Miss is a Alice, and Alice be noble, no mere peasant can be saying their names."

"Let us show you your rooms," Dobby suggested brightly, "The Alice rooms are second only to King Dumbledore's."

"Miss will have a bath, Miss Alice needs it, Mimsy will fetch hot water from the kitchens." The blonde girl informed her, despite the droop of her stature and the lankness of her hair and face she seemed quite determined. She curtseyed quickly and strode off.

The world she found herself in certainly wasn't the one she was familiar with. Every moment Hermione began to forget, lulled into a false sense of security by things vaguely familiar, such as a bed, even if the four poster monstrosity was so unlike the small bunk she occupied in Hogwarts. A dresser and vanity and wash basin, although these were so fine and grand she had never touched anything of their like. Dobby's nervous chattering, ever so polite and formal like the nobles well trained servants were at home, despite his tendency to drift off abruptly and apologize or reference things he expected her to know but she did not, was a soothing balm. He bowed to her, showing her the grand suite, no less than three rooms linked together in a neat chain. A drawing room, a sitting room and finally her bed and bath chamber combined as one large space that lay beyond her sitting room.

Lost in the monotony of the eager servant's bragging of the fine fixtures and elegance she was to expect as this strange Steward's guest, the brown eyed girl felt her mouth flop open in a very unladylike display of aplomb, amber eyes comically widened as the other servant returned from fetching water. As matter of fact as the nose on a person's face, Mimsy brought with her enough water to fill the tub. As in a great gob of it, steaming hot, if the misty tendrils escaping the warbling orb of water were to be trusted. A large mass that was floating mid air after the woman. No buckets, no tedious hauling, just a magnificent blob of water surrounded by _nothing._

"E-excuse me," Hermione interrupted Dobby's enthusiastic description of the curtains, down to the thread used to stitch them, and the hooked nose man waited politely for her to continue.

"Is that water, er- levitating?" Her breathy words bellied the disbelief in which she held such a statement.

"Tis a basic spell," Mimsy scoffed, "As a Alice, you can do much more." Gulping, the girl eyed them both in stunned alarm.

"I can not," she denied, almost defensively. Is _this_ what they thought of her then? That she was capable of such feats? Of things that appeared for lack of a better word, to be done by magic?

Mimsy curtseyed lowly, "Begging your pardon, Miss Alice, but you can. Else the Gryffindor would have struck you dead. I saw it myself, with the last one." She shuddered, before pointing to the tub, where the hot water immediately bobbed to, before it poured itself into the tub in a soft, steady stream. Hermione's mind boggled over such convenience. If only it was real and not just a product of her imagination.

"Don't listen to her, Miss. A Miss Alice shouldn't hear about thems that lost their way," Dobby advised, "They weren't Alices, no, not Alices at all."

"Just so," Mimsy nodded, before adding seriously, "You has shown the Miss enough of the fixtures and rooms, Miss be needing a bath. The Mad Hatter wants to see her, as soon as soon is possible, he says."

Dobby eyed the curious eyed girl standing between him and Mimsy in alarm, "Mustn't keep the Hatter waiting, Miss, he is rarely in one time or place for very long."

"So he _is_ mad, then, that man Steward Dumbledore called Sirius? That's who you mean, is it not?" Hermione clarified.

"Yes Miss, he be the one, but he wasn't always Mad, the Hatter," Dobby confided, brown eyes mournful. "Once he was just Hatter."

"Shush, we not supposed to speak of such things. Thems nobles business," Mimsy chided sternly. Dobby flinched, and then hung his head.

"Don't worry, I'm not offended," she assured the man, rewarded as he brightened right back up. Sure, he was over fifty if he was a day, but something about his manner and speech was almost enduringly childlike.

"You is being my favorite Alice," Dobby beamed at her, "Dobby will bring you cake."

"Soup first, or else you be giving Miss a tummy ache, and only after she be seeing the Mad Hatter."

"Of course!" Dobby smiled widely at Hermione, "After the Hatter and the soup, Dobby promises."

"Yes, yes, now shoo," Mimsy instructed. "Miss needs her bath."

A/N: So you know when you have a plot bunny and it grows into a plot rabbit? That's this story. I've outlined everything but it keeps growing bigger and bigger the more I write. It may eat me. If I don't write, I've been devoured. Send help. Just kidding, I would totally keep writing in the belly of the beast. Regular updates to follow this chapter, promise. To everyone who kudos this story, I heart you too, to my only and therefore best ever commenter keeping an eye on this story, bless you, please stalk it.


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